


White Orchard

by Decorera



Series: Wild Hunt, Wild Nights [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 23:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11368008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decorera/pseuds/Decorera
Summary: "I'm a freak." "I'm a freak, too."





	White Orchard

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed
> 
> Geralt loves his ladies. That is at least clear in the games as they give you every opportunity to sleep with most of the women. It follows then that if Geralt was bisexual, then there would be many more encounters along his journeys. I intend to write a few more of these little encounters with other ladies and gentlemen of Geralt's acquaintance. Have fun!

The cool evening air was sweetened by the blossoms of White Orchard. Geralt breathed in deeply as he turned Roach’s nose towards the inn. The noonwraith at the abandoned village had taken a lot out of him and the trek with Mislav up to the griffin’s nest hadn’t helped the gash in his side to heal at all. He knew he would be fine if he got a good night’s rest, but until then the healing muscles itched and pulled. Well at least he had the coin to pay for a night at the inn. Bram’s cousin might be willing to feed them for her cousin’s life, but Geralt had never seen a business woman turn away coin for a valuable room. Although considering the size of the inn, it couldn’t have more than a couple rooms at all and might just be a bench by the fire. If Geralt was lucky, Vesemir had taken care of that business; seeing as the old witcher had spent the day in the tavern talking and more importantly, listening.

“Wolf!”

Geralt looked up at Vesemir who waving at him from across the stable yard. “Oh, this can’t be good,” Geralt grumbled as he took in the old witcher’s face. Geralt slid down from Roach’s back with a wince and a pat for the horse. “What is it?” he demanded, eyeing the smug looks that the drunken villagers were giving them through the windows.

“No room at the inn, it seems.” Vesemir shrugged, “Or at least not any more. Elsa seemed quite willing to put us up for the night until those peasants demanded our room despite having homes of their own. Geralt!” 

Geralt stopped his angry turn short at his teacher’s sharp word but bared his teeth at the villagers. “We gonna stand for this?” he demanded.

“No reason not to,” Vesemir replied calmly, “Smashing in a few heads won’t change their minds and will lose us the little good will we have cultivated in this village. Another night of sleeping rough won’t hurt us.”

Geralt snorted, “Might.” He peeled back the torn section of his armor to show Vesemir the wound.

“Damn it, Wolf! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times...”

Geralt cut his teacher off at the pass, “I know, I know. Look, if you are good to watch over me while I meditate then I can push through till after the griffin fight tomorrow. I’ll sleep in the saddle.”

Vesemir shook his head, “No good. I need the rest too.” They both stood in silence thinking. “Alright,” Vesemir drew out the word. “Is there anyone in the village who might be thinking fondly of you? There’s a widow in town who was, em, quite taken with me.” Geralt raised his eyebrows at the older man who huffed, “I’m not dead yet, Wolf. But I highly doubt the lady has room for two.” 

Geralt chuckled and thought over his acquaintance. The smith would be willing to put him up for a night, except for the fact that the dwarf was sleeping rough himself in the ruins of his home. The peasant with the sick daughter wouldn’t be likely to take him in; not after he raised his fee. The noonwraith had been worth the extra coin but now Geralt was wishing he’d been a little more generous. Geralt straightened as amber eyes flashed in his memory: Mislav the hunter. _‘I’m a freak.’ ‘Yeah, I’m a freak, too.’_

Geralt nodded slowly, “I think, maybe. I’ll go get some supplies from the inn keep and meet you in the morning to fight the griffin.”

Vesemir nodded sagely, “Gonna want good light for this fight. At noon in the northern fields.”

Geralt smiled slyly at his teacher, “Sure you don’t just want plenty of time with your widow, old man?” Vesemir thumped him on his back and strode off into the darkness. Geralt’s low chuckle followed him like a stray dog. It didn’t take long to gather what he needed and ride out to the edge of the village. A lonely candle shone out of the window of Mislav’s cabin; made it rather easy to find in the dark. He dismounted Roach with a groan and turned to find the door open with Mislav gripping his bow. “It’s Geralt the witcher.” He called out to the waiting man.

Mislav paused for a long moment and then put his bow aside, “Aye, I see. I heard you ride up and I thought,” He trailed off as he looked into the darkness towards the village. He shook himself and asked what Geralt wanted.

“A piece of your floor for the night, if you’re amiable. Seems witchers aren’t any more welcome in White Orchard than you.” 

Predictably Mislav’s hard gaze softened in sympathy. He stood aside from the door, “I don’t have much to offer you but you’re welcome.” Geralt snorted and flung a sack towards him. Mislav caught it easily and looked at it in curiosity.

“It’s only right you get a fair price if you are going to be my innkeeper for the night.” Mislav opened his mouth to protest but Geralt rode right over him, “I figure you don’t get some of the benefits of a town being way out here,” Geralt carefully did not say pariah but it echoed in his mind. “Used the coin I would have given the inn keep to buy you some luxuries. Saved the merchant’s life earlier so I got a far bit more for my coin than you would have.” He pulled Roach over to the lee of the house and began untacking and rubbing her down; determinedly ignoring Mislav’s steady gaze. By the time Roach was settled and eating hungrily from her feed bag, Mislav had disappeared back inside the cabin. The sounds of cooking and the smell of a good fire had begun wafting out of the open door.

Geralt stooped a little to get through the entryway. He was taller than most peasants. Getting good food and healthy exercise as a child gave him quite a physical advantage on most villagers. The mutations made him superhuman but he was already at the peak of human condition. It certainly confused those who saw his grey hair first. The honey and spirits Geralt had brought were on the shelf and the fresh vegetables in a bin next to where Mislav was working. Geralt eyed the other items he had brought, carefully put away around the cabin, with satisfaction. He had enough trouble with bigots to be very happy to spend a little hard earned gold to make another outcast’s life a little better, and he hadn’t lied. He hadn’t spent more than he would have for a room. He wasn’t a charity after all, he told himself firmly. 

Geralt began pulling off his armor and checking it for damage piece by piece. A witcher’s gear was often his life, after all. He was a little focused on it, so much so that when he looked up from mending the tear in his cuirass he surprised Mislav who had been eyeing the hard muscles and scarred skin on display before him. Geralt smiled as the man paled, looked away, gulped, and then looked back with a shamed gaze. “Apologizes,” the hunter muttered, as he carried over the warm dinner to Geralt. 

Geralt took the food from him; his hand not flinching from Mislav’s as he took the wooden bowl. “Not a problem.” He said calmly. He ate and firmly ignored Mislav’s astonished look until he couldn’t bear the glances anymore. “Look, Mislav, I’ve travelled all over this land. The traditions and opinions of White Orchard are not the opinions of the world. Hell, you’re a part of Nilfgaard now. They don’t give a shit who you fuck. Ask the soldiers at the fort about the Ballad of Bloody Ridge. It’s all about two soldiers, their love, and their wars. Completely common ballad.” Geralt shrugged again, “And if that wasn’t enough, I’m a witcher. Rumors should tell you that I don’t have a single place to stand where I could throw a stone in regards to fucking.”

Mislav broke out into hearty laughter, “Well, I try not to put too much stock in rumor, but now that you’ve brought it up; I have heard a tale or two of Geralt of Rivia and a succubus?” He laughed again as Geralt groaned.

“You plow one succubus and no one ever lets you live it down.” Mislav didn’t let him off the hook and the vodka got opened as Geralt told more and more improbable tales of his exploits. The two men eventually found themselves stretched out on a handsome wolf skin rug before the hearth passing the bottle back and for between them. A small part of one bottle of spirits was not enough to get Geralt drunk, not with his metabolism, but he was pleasantly warm when Mislav suddenly rolled into him and kissed him. Geralt kissed back, chasing the taste of their dinner back into Mislav’s mouth. Mislav shuddered under him and panted lightly when Geralt broke the kiss. The witcher pulled the other man atop him until the hunter straddled his hips. Hard thighs squeezed Geralt’s sides as Mislav’s hands began an almost worshipful exploration of Geralt’s chest. 

Geralt caught his callused hands and tugged until Mislav looked him in the eye. “I’m only here for the night.” He told the other man firmly, eyeing his glassy gaze with mistrust. Mislav blinked and nodded. “Good enough.” Geralt replied and sat up in an impressive display of core body strength. He wound a hand through Mislav’s hair and tugged him closer. “But this night,” he murmured into the man’s ear, “I’m only yours.” Mislav’s breath quickened and Geralt hid his smile in the man’s neck.

The two men passed kisses back and forth as their rough hands explored the other. Mislav would shudder uncontrollably when his neck was caressed. Geralt liked his hair being pulled. Mislav loved the sounds Geralt made when his nipples were licked and sucked. Geralt wrenched an almost pained groan out of Mislav when he sucked the man’s fingers. Eventually the gentle exploration warmed to blazing passion. Geralt lay back and spread his legs for Mislav who wasted no time in grabbing oil and accepting the invitation. Geralt panted roughly as Mislav began to lap at his cock head while strong fingers began to prepare Geralt. “More beneath the head, hunter. Lower, lower, fuck, yes there!” Mislav sucked firmly at Geralt cock as the witcher cursed and writhed beneath him. Mislav pulled off with a pop of his lips and Geralt bit his lip to keep from begging him to come back. 

“I’ve never seen such a sight. Such a warrior but here you are prancing on my fingers like a pony.” Mislav thrust his finger deep into Geralt and the witcher lost any thought of protesting. “That’s right, witcher. Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

Geralt had to grab his cock to keep from shooting off. He shoved the hunter over until he could straddle him. “I think there is something else I’d rather fuck myself on.” 

Mislav eagerly spread Geralt’s arse to help him settle down on his rock hard cock. The hunter threw his head back as Geralt took all of his long cock into himself in one smooth glide. “Sweet goddess, that’s right. Take me all at once, ya bastard. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Geralt threw his hair back and rolled his hips like any master rider could. Mislav’s amber eyes gleamed as he watched Geralt ride his cock. “God, Goddess, this is too good. Ah you were made for this, Witcher. Look at you toss your mane and prance for me.”

Geralt laughed as he ground down on the moaning hunter, “I’m made for fucking, am I? I can think of quite a few ladies who probably think the only thing I’m good for is fucking.”

Mislav grabbed Geralt by the hips and began slamming up into him until they both came with matching groans of pleasure. Geralt slumped down onto Mislav’s heavy chest and he felt the hunter’s arms wrap around them. “Then those ladies are naught but fools.” He heard Mislav whisper as the exhaustion of the day pulled Geralt under the tide of sleep.

Geralt woke to a gentle sensation. He kept his eyes shut and feigned sleep as he examined the situation. He was still bare to the skin but judging from the lack of stickiness between his thighs, someone had cleaned him. The someone who was tracing his scars with gentle hands. Geralt let the corners of his mouth turn up slightly and stroked a hand up the back of the warm body pressed into his side. Geralt met Misav’s clear eyes and bent forward to take a kiss. Mislav clutched at his shoulders as Geralt rolled over onto him. The witcher grinned wickedly down at the man, “Another round? I’m not expected till noon.”

Mislav sighed in satisfaction and pulled Geralt down for another kiss. “Tis only barely dawn; we have plenty of time for many more rounds.” He licked at the other man’s jaw, “Will you plough me, witcher? Not that your arse was not a gift from the gods, you understand.” Geralt laughed at his joking tone, enjoying this playful side of the man. “Aye, then.” He growled into the other man’s throat and Mislav groaned in approval. “Yes, plough me, White Wolf. I’m aching for you.”

Geralt felt his blood heat at the man’s wanton words. “Like that then?” he murmured and bit firmly into the hunter’s strong neck. Mislav moaned and his hips jutted forward. His long proud cock was already dripping in excitement. “You want me to open you up and drive my cock into you until no part of you isn’t taken by me? That what you want, my hunter?” Mislav’s eyes were wide with excitement as he abruptly rolled over and presented his arse to Geralt’s heated gaze. Geralt grinned wolfishly and grabbed the man. Mislav panted and moaned as the witcher squeezed and massaged the lightly haired arse, but he straight up yelled when Geralt spread him and drove in tongue first. Geralt licked a broad swipe up from balls to back before wiggling his tongue deep along Mislav’s crack. Expletives fell from the other man’s lips like rain as he turned shocked eyes to watch Geralt. Geralt licked around the rim, sucked, and even drove his tongue as deep into Mislav as he could reach. His face grew slick with saliva but he didn’t give in until Mislav shuddered under him and grabbed for his own cock. Geralt sat back with a chuckle of triumph and quickly shoved two oiled fingers into the delicious arse before him.

“No one’s eaten out that arse before, hmm Mislav? Too bad. You taste delicious. I can’t wait to lick you again after I finish fucking my seed deep into you. Suck every last drop out of you.” Mislav groaned and shook his head where it was buried in the wolf fur. “No? No, you want me to leave my seed in you? Fucked up deep inside you where it will never come out? You want to be marked by me, Mislav? So you’ll remember for a good long while that the hunter rolled over and spread his legs for the White Wolf?” Geralt rubbed firmly up with his fingers and watched with delight as Mislav came all over his pelts from nothing but Geralt’s words and his fingers. Geralt pulled out and carefully lined up his member with the opening gently twitching before his eyes. He sank into Mislav’s arse with a groan of delight.

Mislav turned his head to watch as Geralt began a steady pace. “Gods, that was good. Take your pleasure, Wolf. You earned it.”

Geralt smiled smugly and repositioned his thrust. Mislav’s eyes widened in shocked pleasure. “If you think you are done already, Mislav, you haven’t heard of the stamina of the witchers. I’m gonna plough you for however long it takes until you come again.”

Mislav moaned as he protested, “I’m not a young man any more, Geralt. It’ll never…never.. oh gods.”

Geralt grinned and planted one foot beside Mislav’s knee so that he could get an even more powerful thrust. Moans and shaky pants dripped out of Mislav’s mouth as the candle burned down. Mislav slowly grew hard again under the witcher’s steady ploughing. “By the gods, what a fuck.” He muttered and looked back at Geralt. The witcher was practically in a meditative state as he met Mislav’s eyes through half closed eyelids. Mislav moaned and buried his face in the pelts while he enjoyed the ride. What a way to catch a wolf!

The sun was high as Geralt stretched once more, carefully loosening all of his mildly sore muscles. Perhaps several rounds of thoroughly enjoyable sex hadn’t been the best preparation for a griffin fight, but he had done more with less before. His wound was completely healed and that was the most important thing. Mislav watched him avidly as he idly worked on a scrap of leather. Geralt huffed when he caught him at it and marveled at the difference between the confident man he had held in his arms and the wary one who had opened his home to him. “You should go south.” He commented as he began preparing to leave.  
“Living near these small minded arseholes is doing you no good.” 

Mislav looked away toward the ruins of the lord’s castle, just barely visible in the distance and looked as though he was considering it. “No, Geralt. I don’t think so. I know these woods and..” he hesitated, “Florian is buried here and I don’t want to leave him. Maybe in time, but right now… He was the love of my life and I don’t want him to be lonely. Can you understand that?”

Geralt shook his head, “Not really, but it’s your choice.” He threw his saddlebags up onto Roach and buckled them down.

“Aye.” Mislav agreed calmly, “And who knows. Perhaps all those attitudes will come north with the Nilfgaradians. I wouldn’t want to miss the White Orchard getting educated to the ways of their new nation. They will hate it so much.” 

Geralt chuckled, “Just take care of yourself, Mislav.”

The hunter stood and held out the piece of leather to Geralt who took it with a curious glance. “It’s for your whetstone. You can attach it to your scabbard. I hear that silver blades go dull quickly. This way you can have your stone handy for a quick sharpen.” Geralt examine the piece with pleasure. He carefully learned the way it opened and closed before he slotted his whetstone into place and attached it. 

“That will be real helpful. Thank you, Mislav.”

The hunter threaded a hand into Geralt’s long silver hair and pulled him down for one last kiss. “Be safe on the Path, Geralt of Rivia. You’re welcome in my home if you pass this way again.”  
Geralt swung up on Roach and lifted a hand in farewell. “Peace on the trail, Mislav.”

Geralt could feel the hunter watching him until the crest of the hill hid him from the hunter’s keen eyes. Geralt reined Roach in at the base of the hill and looked back over his shoulder; imagining Mislav standing outside his door. Geralt smiled a small private smile and turned back to the Path. He had his teacher to meet, a griffin to kill, and one particularly troublesome sorceress to find.


End file.
